and so, so late
by ncfan
Summary: There's no more time left.


Considering this is my first foray into _Code Geass_, one might think I'd choose something slightly less heavy as far as subject matter goes. Well, considering it's me, everyone knows the truth. I thrive on this stuff, and there is so little written on Cornelia and Euphemia. Please forgive me if the characterizations are a little dodgy; I'm still new to this one.

I own nothing.

* * *

><p><em>Should have been here—<em>

_What happened?—_

_Who shot her?—_

_You know who did—_

_Why, oh why?—_

_And so, so late…_

There is a death, but that is only the start of it. There is a body, but there is no life. There is a sister, but she is barely human. There is begging, but no one is there to listen. There are pleas, but no one to turn them to. There are screams, but no one can hear them.

There is a fire in the grate but Cornelia thinks winter has descended on her sister's rooms like an avenging angel.

Some time past there was knocking on the door. Someone trying to get in, though whether to make sure she's alright or obtain some sort of guidance on the growing crisis from the Vicereine Cornelia doesn't know. A sharp bark of "Leave me alone!" makes the knocking cease and whoever was on the other side has enough respect (not to mention common sense) to leave Cornelia to herself.

She'll come out. She'll come out in her own time with Hell following on her heels and wrath boiling in her eyes to make all the men straighten a little when they see her. For now, Cornelia is stunned, speechless, shattered. No one could look at her and think her a creature capable of turning the world on its head.

It takes some effort to remember, but the past comes back with the shadows of age on them.

Their mother dies when Euphemia is small, the complications from a later-in-life pregnancy claiming both their mother and the tiny girl within. It's sudden and the screaming fills the entire house, and then suddenly it's gone. All the screaming is gone, all the tense shouts of the doctors are gone, and the silence that seeps in to replace it is choking.

(_Cornelia remembers; those nails were so small, so perfect, and her eyelids were veined like a butterfly's wing. She peeked into the death chamber and saw the tiny body of her sister beside their mother there. At fourteen Cornelia bid farewell to all her illusions as she touched the dead infant's downy head and was promptly spotted and ushered out by one of the doctors._

—"_I'm sorry your Highness; you're going to have to leave"—_

_Cornelia doesn't cry. She doesn't cry when she sees her mother dead. She doesn't cry when she sees her infant sister dead. She doesn't cry when she has to explain to Euphemia what happened._

_She only wants to cry at the latter.)_

Marianne takes Cornelia and Euphemia in after that, two girls still dressed from head to toe in black. At first, Cornelia greets this development with suspicion—there's _always _a catch. Narrowed eyes and thin lips are had and she twists the edge of her veil in her hand. All Marianne, also black-clad, has to do is smile gently and hug her before Cornelia realizes that the only reason she wants to take in two motherless princesses is because she wants to. (_"It will be alright; I'm so sorry and it will be alright." It's all Cornelia can do to bite back the howl in her throat.)_

The old home is shut up and becomes a monument of sorts, a memorial to lost memories. Cornelia and Euphemia go to live with Marianne and a young Lelouch. Marianne essentially becomes foster mother to Euphemia. (_This, Cornelia will never forget. This, she will never stop being grateful for._) In time, Euphemia comes to see Marianne more as her mother than the woman who had given birth to her, Marianne replacing the distant, foggy memories in her head and for Euphemia and Lelouch, just a year older, it's as though they'd always played together.

The relationship between Marianne and Cornelia is never exactly that of mother and daughter; the age gap between them isn't quite wide enough to foster that sort of dynamic. They have a healthy respect and liking for one another; it's more like watching two sisters than anything else. Cornelia loses a mother and gets an older sister she can actually stand in the process (Guinevere is shallow and petty and the others whom Cornelia counts among her elder sisters aren't much better; personality clashes can be brutal). No one would call it a fair trade, let alone Cornelia herself, but it's something. Maybe a shoddy consolation prize, maybe a raw deal, but it's something, and Cornelia can bring herself to live with it.

Losing Marianne was like losing her mother all over again, except with so much more blood and the sight of Nunnally's devastated, traumatized face seared into her eyelids.

(_It's pandemonium. There are people screaming and running in all directions and Cornelia is shouting herself hoarse trying to restore order._

_She grabs Lelouch by the waist and hauls him into her arms, snapping at the nearest man present to get the paramedics to see if anything can be done for Marianne and to treat the howling Nunnally's injuries._

_The moment Lelouch realizes who's holding him he starts shouting "I hate you! I hate you!" over and over again and Cornelia is too stunned by the sheer level of loathing in his voice to respond._

_Euphemia is huddled at the top of the staircase gripping the banister, eyes screwed shut as she sobs her heart out. As soon as Cornelia reaches her, she puts Lelouch down. He immediately goes tearing back to his mother, shouting for help. Cornelia wraps her arms around Euphemia's trembling back and waits for the paramedics to arrive as her sister wails into the crook of her neck._

_Nunnally comes out of surgery several hours later crippled and blind. She and Lelouch are banished to Japan not even a week later._

_It's not a coincidence that Cornelia doesn't believe in God anymore after this day. She steps into the chapel, looks at the stained glass painting of the serene Virgin and it takes every iota of self-control Cornelia has not to spit in Her face._)

All who know her agree that Cornelia adores—_adored_—her younger sister. All who know her agree that Cornelia loves—_still loves_—Euphemia fiercely in a way that she is capable of loving no one else. There are few who know how much a role guilt and regret plays in to that, hovering over her shoulders like some great, black bird.

Between school and later the military Cornelia is rarely in her sister's life. Weeks or even months can go by without them ever laying eyes on each other and the letters are inevitably lengthy (Euphemia's style) or terse because few words can be found (Cornelia's style). Cornelia has never been what anyone could call an expert letter writer; the way Euphemia will bring this to light is invariably a gentle teasing, but Cornelia can always catch the wistful, sometimes even resentful tone beneath.

Every time Cornelia sees Euphemia, she seems different.

Oh, it's just the looks. Yes, Euphemia is—_was_—still a young girl and she is—_was_—still growing; she had usually grown between visits (_"I swear, every time I see you you've grown three inches."_).

Every time Cornelia sees Euphemia, her sister wore a different face.

It happens like snapshots. From bright-eyed, innocent toddler to sweet young girl to shy pre-adolescent to composed, demure young woman. Euphemia is different and every time Cornelia stares at her with her own unchanging eyes it takes a little while longer to find her sister beneath the stranger's face.

Cornelia, on the other hand, never changes. She is always "The Witch of Britannia". She is always the one to provoke fear and awe and hatred. She is the shadow over her enemies' shoulders. The only thing different Cornelia becomes is even harder every day. Euphemia learns how to adapt and how to be flexible and Cornelia is rigid, stiff, stern and burns as cold as ice. If Euphemia is moving forward than Cornelia is stuck in place for all time and she has given up the chance to be a different person.

It's been said by anyone, by no one, by few or by many, that Euphemia and Cornelia are pale mirrors of each other; they reflect things that are the same and different too. It's been said that one is like fire and the other like smoke. Well, one hates war and the other glories in it. One is as kind as the flow of a gentle stream and the other as cruel and unforgiving as the ocean in winter. One is full of life and one is full of death. Cornelia doesn't know which one of them is supposed to be pale. She's not sure she wants to know at all.

Apart, two sisters are regretful and weary of the dance of letters and grainy phone calls. Together, things change.

When they are together, Cornelia is a different animal entirely from what her men are used to. She laughs and her smiles aren't things ladled deep in poison; she's warmer and kinder and no one would be able to connect her with "The Witch of Britannia". They both reach eagerly for these moments because there are so few. If fate has dealt Cornelia and Euphemia li Britannia a hand that isn't particularly kind, they both do their best to ignore it. The Virgin isn't the only one whose face Cornelia wants to spit in.

Well no more.

No more days together.

No more smiles, no more laughs.

No more grasping at smoke, no more basking briefly in the glow of sisterly love and craving the sun for just a little while more.

That's been stolen.

Cornelia can not, will not weep. She has never had any use for tears and there is no point in them at all. She won't weep, can't even find it in herself to try. Hollowed out and stunned, she thinks of everything and nothing, her mind both overwhelmed and empty.

There's no way Euphemia massacred the Elevens of her own will. Cornelia knows her sister, knows where her ideals lie. Euphemia endeavored to bring about the SAZ in a genuine attempt to make the lives of the Elevens easier. Cornelia didn't approve of it but she allowed Euphemia to go forth with the idea, recognizing that it would at least stop Zero dead in his tracks. _At least some good will come out of this_, she told herself; _Zero can either accept it or make himself into a monster in the eyes of the people he "protects". Either way he's done for._

Zero did something, must have done something. Intelligence says that Euphemia was alone with him for nearly ten minutes; it must have happened then. _He did something. What did he do to her?  
><em>

And now she's dead, shot down by the accursed terrorist himself.

(_Why has death come for her? She was sixteen, a child! There was nothing she wanted but peace and she was cut down in the manner of war, slaughtered like cattle in the abattoir._

_I am of death; Euphie is life incarnate. Anyone with eyes can see that. I was supposed to be the one killed like that; she was supposed to die in her sleep, peaceful, years piled on her shoulders like scarves. Death was supposed to be like falling asleep for her._

_What did she do to deserve this?)_

There's no time (_There was never any time, not for them_). No time left for Euphemia and no time left for Cornelia to hold her again or smile and laugh with her. No time for grief. No time for mourning, though Cornelia suspects—_knows—_that this will be her cross for the rest of her days, however long she may live. There's no time. No time for anything. As usual, Cornelia is entirely too late to arrive for that.

No tears. No time for tears. There is only time left for vengeance. Recollection. Anger. Wrath. Terror. Things for the future. Things to remember. Things to tell everyone why Euphemia should never be touched, why her name should never be sullied nor her body broken. Things to tell everyone why the fury of one Cornelia li Britannia should _never_ be provoked.

And so, so late once again, too late to do anything but rage, Cornelia comes out.


End file.
